Fatayas

There are small mangoes starting to grow on the tree in the back yard. I have a mango tree growing in my back yard. I have a cherry tree and an apple tree in my back yard. The branches shake when the cats jump from the neighbor's rooftops onto the tree. The branches shake when squirrels jump from the neighbor's garage. Midwestern mosquitoes are huge and loud and you can feel when they bite you. African mosquitoes are tiny and you can only hear them when they buzz in people's ears at night. This Saturday I'm going salsa dancing. This summer I'm going square dancing. The full moon last night was so bright it lit up the streets when the power went out. You can see the lights from the stadium all the way from my house.

Friday night I went salsa dancing again. The head waiter said hi- he recognized us, and even remembered my name. Patrice was there, and the Puerto-Rican-striped-shirt, I love how a kiss on the cheek is the proper greeting for friends even if you don't remember their name. Even between two men. I danced a little bit more than last time (last time I danced a total of three times, though, so that's not saying much), I got to dance with Mohammed again, he even walked back to where we were sitting behind the pool table (the only chairs open- the place is always packed)to ask me to dance! And this man in a tweed suit who could move better than anyone else besides the teachers, I found out he was a dance teacher in Italy, but on vacation here, he knew all the staff and wore a fedora and a tie and jacket. He taught me the first steps of something, said he'd teach me the rest next week. I danced a basic pachata even, which was fun if a little awkward. Today's lesson day again. Laura, when she finally got there (she's got bad karma with taxis, always gets the drivers who barely speak french and get her lost, we spent so much time calling and trying to figure out where she was) ordered a drink with rum and ditax juice, it was really good, she sat with Elke and they didn't really dance and were pretty tired and I hope they had fun 'cause Kaela and I certainly were. Maybe next week I'll take Mohammed's advice and leave my shyness at the door.

The next day we decided to go to the market again, Sandagas of course, meet everyone at N'Ice cream (the coconut flavor is amazing, more like a sorbet, it's got real coconut, and I also got strawberry tirimisu), and I went shopping for fabric with Kenta and Kaela once we split up in smaller groups. It's nearly impossible to keep more than three people together in that place. And it was even Gammul,(the prophet Mohammed's birthday?) a national holiday, so there were only half as many people, it was calm by comparison, only five guys decided they were our guides.

Things I saw at the market that day:

- Two small boys peeing in the street
- a man in a black t-shirt with simple white lettering "fuck criminal"
- a man in a shoe store wearing a shirt that said "support your country: vote Obama"
- a girl walking in front of us was wearing a very fashionable but very revealing tank top with no back. I could count her ribs from behind. She had the fanciest hairdo and shiny gold high heels, and I could count her ribs from behind.
- a man trying to sell me "gucci" belts
- I bought a luggage lock from a cart
- an old man mumbled "kiss me" in wolof as we walked by, jokingly
- a tie-dyed Happy Bunny tank top for sale
- a man with dreds and ghandi glasses smoking a pipe
- a man with a small mesh crate filled with songbirds, he tried to sell us some
- carts, next to each other, selling locks, bras, fish, soccer jerseys, brightly colored boxers, flip flops, fabric, , dried hibiscus flowers, camera chargers, baby shoes, lightbulbs, used books, wood carvings, paintings, dresses, sunglasses, bags of water, pens, socks, mosquito nets, and chickens, among other things.

You really can find anything if you have the time and patience to handle the market. one of our "guides" proved useful too, since I knew what I was looking for. Before, they all were just annoying, trying to lead me from one store to the next asking what I wanted to buy. This day, though, when they asked I just said I was looking for fabric, they asked what kind I said wax, they asked how much I said three metres. They lead me right to one store, no I don't want to go there let's go here instead and since I wouldn't let myself be persuaded they had to follow me. I had one man holding different fabrics I was considering buying, I told him I wanted blue and he helped point out some nice ones. He talked to the shop owner and I understood enough Wolof this time to realize he wasn't trying to cheat me. We negotiated prices and amounts and since it was clear I knew what I wanted it wasn't overwhelming. I got everything needed that day, so did Kaela and Kenta, we did spend almost four hours there. It was so hot, though, I ended up buying a liter of bissap (hibiscus) juice at a boutique near N'Ice cream. It was really strong and I couldn't finish it, so I brought it home and put it in the fridge. And of course, here in Senegal it'd be the worst faux pas ever to not share, so I told everyone, made a point of telling everyone that there was juice in the fridge if anyone wanted any.

Next morning I help Mama Binta make fatayas since I don't have much homework. She calls me over, mentions that bissap I brought home yesterday, where did I get it? And did I drink right from the bottle? yes of course, it was hot and I didn't have a cup. Oh dear. Well she explains that when you want to bring home juice for the family, you don't drink right from the bottle, you pour it into glasses, it's better that way. She doesn't drink from anything that has touched someone else's lips, it isn't good. I explain that I had some leftover. She says it's not a problem, now I know for next time, but I leave with a flushed face, feeling very barbaric. What could I do? saving it just for me would be even worse. And we all drink from the same cup at dinner- well, I don't, but that's because I can't drink the same water 'cause it's from the faucet. We eat from the same plate, I thought it wouldn't be any trouble to share the juice.

I start folding the fatayas. There's a new boy to help make them, he works really really slowly and I can't help feeling a little proud of myself until Mama tells me that I'm using too much filling, wanñi ko!

Wanñi ko. I know those words. I was almost too excited that I could understand the wolof, I almost didn't realize that what it means is "lessen it" or "lower it". It's the phrase I learned-and later used- on Friday at the market, negotiating taxis and fabric prices. Dafa jafe, wanñi ko. That's expensive, lower the price!

Or, in this case, use less filling. You're doing it wrong. Again. After six full weeks, you're doing it wrong. I understand just enough Wolof to know that I'm doing it wrong. I understand the words, I'm only just starting to understand the words, and what she understands is that she doesn't comprehend. Doesn't comprehend the culture, the daily life, the way we do things here. Ndank ndank moy japp golo ci niaye. Slowly, slowly, step by step. There's a new boy hired to help make the fataya, he works really really slowly and i can't help feeling a little ashamed of myself that I don't even know his name. He's learning and I thought I had already learned.

I really did think I'd gotten the hang of things, knew what to expect.

But I saw a few groups of tourists at the market, you could tell they were tourists because they were toubabs and they were followed by a crowd of men shaking necklaces, headphones, belts, at them. They were followed by people asking how are you my sister, and they looked terrified and angry and tired. And we said look at those toubabs, poor tourists, they don't realize that the market is actually quiet today. Look at them I doubt they can barter like we've learned to, I bet they paid too much for the taxi ride here, I wonder if they're students.

And then I wonder if I still paid too much for the taxi. And I look behind and see a man shaking a fistfull of sunglasses at me. And I'm filling fatayas and filling fatayas and telling the taxi driver to wanñi ko and then thanking him in French and trusting him to take me where I need to go. And I stare at the other toubabs on the street because they're white like me, and I call them toubabs because that's what we are here, and then a boy shouts "toubab cherie!" at me and I inform him that am na tur, I have a name, tudd uma toubab, my name isn't toubab. And I have lived here for only six weeks and all of six weeks. My mother makes fatayas and she teaches me how and I learn really fast and forget to pay attention to where I am.

I got everything I needed at the market, and brought some bissap home for my family, and negotiated taxi fares in Wolof. That is what I did this weekend. And I still don't know how much I don't know. Which is frustrating. But I understand a little. Which is worth it.